


Ohana (the families we make along the way)

by mgsdays (regencyaus)



Series: it will come back [2]
Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: + It will come back timeline where Qiu is training Mo, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fighting Kink, First Time, First time for the backstory parts, M/M, Mafia backdrop, Qiu and mo guanshan's friendship, Qiu centric, it can be read separately though, mgs figuring out how much his relationship with ht means to him and how far he'll go for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26391904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regencyaus/pseuds/mgsdays
Summary: You know power when you see it, Qiu has always believed that. This guy? This guy exudes power. It's on his posture, on the fierce look in his eyes. It’s on the darkness that he has simmering just under the surface.Can't be over 20, but he guy fills up the room. Youneedto pay attention.Qiu certainly is.Qiu and He Cheng's backstory. Plus, these days Qiu trains Mo and He Cheng doesn't care, except for the mood he's coincidentally in when he's not getting attention. Qiu is having fun with that.Set in universe of the tianshan fic It will come back.
Relationships: He Cheng/Brother Qiu (19 Days)
Series: it will come back [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918039
Comments: 54
Kudos: 205





	1. Chapter 1

He Cheng is fucking mad at him. Qiu can tell. He Cheng is playing it cool but it simmers, just under the surface.

“It's cute that you got yourself a side project,” He Cheng tells him, “but you have to stick it to slow work hours. You can't bring it into your days off too.”

They’ve been quiet on the drive home. He Cheng pulled into traffic and has kept his eyes firmly on the road. That usually means one of two things: Qiu did something dumb and He Cheng is assessing strategies or… someone else did something dumb and He Cheng is assessing strategies. Sometimes it's both. Sometimes there’s a layer of quietly stewing in rage. Qiu doesn’t think it’s that deep today.

“Pissy because you're not getting laid boss?”

“Fuck you. You prefer to keep fucking guard over the kid, your choice, but this is unhealthy.” 

...really? 

Qiu stares at him.

“Boss... you're the one who told me to keep guard over him.”

“Yes.”

“Like. I'm being paid to keep guard over him.”

“Yes.”

“Which is the most boring job in the world, may I point out.”

He Cheng signals left and waits for a family to cross. “Yeah. He Tian is out of town due to the whole mess with the Fengs- my lady, just cross, for fucks sake. The fuck is she waiting for, a written-“ Qiu puts on a smile and gestures to the other side of the street. 

She crosses, finally, one kid in each hand. 

One of the kids gives them a thumbs up. 

“Oh great, random people on the street only listen to you,” He Cheng says.

“I'm charming.”

“You have your days. He Tian is out of the country and he asked me to keep an eye on Mo Guan Shan, you know that. I can’t delegate this job to just anyone. There’s still the real chance that someone on the inside is leaking our information. You're the only I can have blind faith on."

_You're the only I can have blind faith on_. 

At some point it may have sounded like flattery but they're past that. He Cheng is not sweeting him up. It's just cold hard truth. There's no one He Cheng trusts more than Qiu.

“I know,” Qiu says. “I know why you gave me this job. But the job _is_ sitting on my ass following a teenager for months. Doing shit nothing. For _months_.” 

The most action Qiu saw was when the kid tried to dodge his trail and ran into trouble. Some exciting five minutes, if that. And the kid knows better than to risk it these days.

“So you're not getting involved in shootouts,” He Cheng says. “Most people would consider it a good thing. Like getting a little break.”

…seriously?

He Cheng has this infuriating grin at the corner of his mouth. He knows that Qiu isn't most people. 

Neither is He Cheng, for that matter. If He Cheng was the one doing this job he would have found a way to _blow shit up_ by now.

“I can't look at you,” He Cheng says, “I have to watch the road.”

“I'm sure my dissatisfaction is coming through.”

“Oh, I know you're dissatisfied.” 

He Cheng switches lanes. In three seconds flat he has sped past a slow truck. Qiu hides a smile. Enjoyment is in the little things for He Cheng, like putting his BMW to good use.

“So am I,” He Cheng adds, distracted.

“Dissatisfied?”

“Yeah.”

Hmmm.

“We make a good pair,” Qiu shares.

“…on most days,” He Cheng concedes. 

He still has a smile at the corner of his mouth. Qiu watches it, fascinated.

“No amount of staring at me will work, I have to watch the road.”

Qiu looks at the road.

“…there’s a red light ahead.”

There really is.

When they stop He Cheng turns to him.

Finally.

He Cheng looks tired. There’s circles under his eyes that Qiu hadn’t noticed before. But He Cheng still has that certain poise about him. His posture exudes power, and he knows how to yield it. 

He Cheng is resting his hands on the steering wheel. His right thumb is tapping against it, without a specific rhythm.

Something so mundane, like having his hands on a steering wheel, makes Qiu want him. 

Qiu fucking _wants_ him.

It makes his mouth go dry.

He Cheng can tell. He Cheng always knows when Qiu is thinking of something dirty.

He Cheng does nothing to dispel the tension. He lets Qiu look his fill.

Green light.

He Cheng turns back to the road.

Oh.

Right.

Shit. What were they even talking about? Mo’s training, Qiu thinks.

“Anyway, I was doing shit nothing outside his house day after day when the kid asked me for physical training. Of course I agreed. At least it's something to do.” 

“There are _so many things_ you could do. Take up yoga. Pilates.”

Qiu glares.

“Road,” He Cheng reminds him.

“Yeah, look at the road. I think Mo Guan Shan just wants the means to defend himself. He got involved with He Tian and didn't realise he was in deep shit until it was too late.”

“Oh, Mo Guan Shan knew before it was too late. He's known that He Tian is dangerous for a long time. I think it's _why_ he sticks around actually. He likes danger.”

Oh.

_You can relate_ , He Cheng seems to imply. Yeah. Qiu can relate. 

Still,

“The guy still deserves to be prepared for what he’s getting caught up in.”

“I understand why you’re training him,” He Cheng tells him. “I said it's cute that you got yourself a side project. But you have to stick it to slow work hours. You can't bring it into your days off too.”

“Pissy because you’re not getting laid boss?”

“This conversation is going nowhere.”

Qiu smiles. 

Yeah.

But Qiu sure is having fun.

“Hey, stop somewhere for pizza. I could eat a full one right now.”

He Cheng doesn’t answer, but he does stop. 

It’s about the little things.

__________________

The very first time Qiu meets him, Qiu has to do a double take. 

Fuck.

Fucking _hell,_ Qiu is fucked.

The guy walks into Qiu's warehouse like he had an invitation for tea at 4pm. He stops just inside, blocking the exit. 

You know power when you see it, Qiu has always believed that. This guy? This guy _exudes_ power. It's on his posture, on the fierce look in his eyes. It’s on the darkness that he has simmering just under the surface. 

Can't be over 20, but he guy fills up the room. You _need_ to pay attention. 

Qiu certainly is.

And the guy is fucking _beautiful_ , Qiu thinks, right before noticing the black gloves and the underlings behind him. 

Right. Qiu is fucked. He almost forgot for a second.

Things don't exactly improve from there.

The guy is perfectly composed, loose fitting cargo pants and a t-shirt fitting well on his body. The gloves are leather, the good kind, and fingerless. That's fucking bold. If he's here to commit murder he's not too worried about leaving fingerprints. Qiu wonders what it takes to have that kind of confidence. The guy is either particularly well connected or particularly stupid. Qiu would wager on both.

Qiu was expecting something like this sooner or later. Qiu’s little trio with MingMei and Lamborghini was beginning to make some nice money. Not enough to cause problems with the fucking mafia, he thought, but they’re a street gang. The possibility had been in his mind. 

The guy takes a few steps and looks around the warehouse. The underlings _immediately_ step up and replace him at blocking the exit.

Is he…? 

The guy is assessing the room, yeah. 

His eyes pause on specific tools, on the scarce furniture. Oh. Qiu wonders if he’s finding the room lacking, somehow.

Then Qiu wonders why the fuck he would want approval from a 20-year-old that barged in uninvited.

The guy’s eyes linger on an engine taken from a M235i on Tuesday. 

“I drive something like this,” the guy comments, still looking at it.

“…not without the car, I’m sure.”

The look on the guy’s face could pass for a smile, in another universe. 

“It’s a BMW N55,” the guy says. 

Qiu leans back against his chair.

“You know your engines,” Qiu comments. The guy doesn’t take the prompt.

The guy walks towards the engine, lets his hand hover over it. Qiu hopes he doesn’t touch it. It’s Qiu’s engine, Qiu’s warehouse. Qiu is not feeling particularly accommodating with this display of power.

The guy doesn’t touch. He doesn’t say anything either, just stands there, in the middle of the warehouse. The tension is unbearable. Qiu is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Qiu is shit at waiting. 

“We dismantle stolen cars, mate,” he says, “and sell off the parts separately.”

Tall dark and handsome raises an eyebrow.

“...yes. I know.” He turns away from the car piece, finally looking at Qiu. “Do you always announce your crimes to strangers?”

Oh.

Qiu wasn’t prepared for the guy looking at him. The guy is _breathtaking_ , no exaggeration, like some sort of demi-god with the power to match.

Qiu had been working on this car all day and he has three different oil smudges going on. Maybe he’s underdressed.

“The ones with underlings, sure,” Qiu answers. 

A hint of a smile. 

Shit, he is beautiful. This is Qiu’s downfall, sure, but he’ll enjoy the view. 

Qiu clears his throat. 

“We dismantle cars,” Qiu tries again. “We're not exactly selling drugs or getting in the way of the mafia operations-”

The guy was amusing Qiu, but he cuts in to correct him now.

“ _I_ decide if you’re getting in the way of my operations. Not you.”

Oh. 

The guy speaks for the entire mafia, apparently. King of Hangzhou.

Qiu crosses his arms.

“Are we getting in the way of your operations then, boss?”

“…it sounds almost sarcastic when you say it,” the guy comments. 

No way. Really?

…the guy did came into his warehouse uninvited. He waited until Qiu’s trio was out so Qiu would be out-numbered. And what? For some showmanship of power? Sounds like a coward strategy to him.

Qiu glances at the underlings behind him. Their faces are neutral, posed for threat. They’re waiting on the guy’s command.

“Are you here to kill me?” If the guy says yes Qiu will believe him. Qiu will believe that that's what the guy _is here_ for anyway. Doesn't mean the guy will get to do it. 

Qiu is on precipice of a fight here. He can the adrenaline surge through his veins.

If the guy came here to kill Qiu, he will pull out a _gun_ , or he will be very disappointed.

“You know who else drives one of those?” The guy prompts, pointing at the engine again.

“…”

The guy is an amazing conversationalist. Really. The way he just… completes his thoughts before jumping to the next one. Truly incredible.

“Who?”

The guy’s eyes are calculating at Qiu. There’s something there that Qiu can’t quite decipher.

“One of my subordinates,” The guy finally tells him.

…wha-

Qiu freezes.

Every thought on his head stops.

They stole _from the mafia_? 

“We stole _from the mafia_?”

“Bingo. The two of us have some business to settle. I don’t have a high tolerance for disrespect.”

His tone seems to suggest he doesn’t have a tolerance at all.

Oh _fuck_.

Qiu is dead. Fucking fuck. Qiu is _dead_. 

The guy crosses his arms over his chest. The movement makes his muscles stand out against the skin tight shirt.

Qiu watches the repressed strength in his arms. The young age throws you off.

The young age makes you underestimate him. This guys is stronger than he looks.

And he did come prepared.

Qiu wonders who the _fuck_ he’s dealing with.

He wonders if his trio will make it out of this, somehow.

_______________

“You had a trio? Like a trio of criminals?”

Qiu, to this day, still doesn't understand why he gives Mo Guan Shan so much information. Mo is an angry shit, in a good day. Qiu gains absolutely nothing by answering his questions. 

Who knows. Maybe Qiu is going soft. 

He Cheng would laugh in his face if he found out.

Qiu lights up a cigarette. “Yeah, I had a trio.”

“Under your command?”

“…what do you think kid?”

“Chill, I'm just asking.” 

A request to chill, coming from _Mo Guan Shan_ , is fucking hilarious. Qiu takes a long drag and holds the smoke in his lungs for a moment, enjoying the calm.

“What happened to them?"

Qiu blows it out.

“You asked me how I joined. The rest of my crew costs extra.”

“Add it to my list of debt and charge He Cheng for it.”

Qiu snorts.

Mo is leaning on the wall outside the training facility, in his work-out gear. He still has the hand wrappings for boxing on. 

Mo doesn't smoke, as far as Qiu knows. When Qiu announced a cigarette break Mo didn’t have to follow him out. He did, anyway. Maybe Mo is afraid of being left in the facility by himself? 

Ha. It's funny, Guan Shan scared of some mobsters. Mobsters that work for his _brother-in-law,_ of all people. None of them would touch a single hair on Mo. 

They are pretty dangerous though. Maybe Mo is right to be afraid.

Somedays Mo reminds Qiu of his younger self, but never in this. Mo Guan Shan recognises danger where it is due. Qiu never really did. 

“The rest of your trio?” Mo prompts again.

Qiu flicks off ash.

“Yeah, they joined.”

“Where are they?”

Qiu takes another long drag. He could use nicotine for this.

“Wang MingMei left some years ago. She's in accounting, I think. She goes by a different name these days.”

“Mafia does't sound like the kind of job that allows for deserters,” Mo comments.

“He Cheng made an exception for her, at my request. She's loyal, he knows that. She would never reveal anything compromising. These days she's been away long enough that she wouldn't even know sensitive information to begin with.”

Mo seems interested in that part.

“Why did she leave?”

“The other guy in our trio, Lamborghini-“

“You really know a guy called _Lamborghini_?”

“-be polite kid, I was speaking. Nah. He lead a job once where they stole a Lamborghini. Pretty epic heist. In this business people remember that kind of stuff.”

Mo’s impressed. 

“Nice.”

“Yeah.” 

“What happened after He Cheng barged into your warehouse?”

“He threw me around a little. He still offered me a job at the end. I turned it down. He gave us a week to come up with the price of the BMW we stole.”

“How did that go?”

Qiu flicks off ash.

Qiu is not usually an introspective kind of guy. Mo Guan Shan is really making him dig up his past here.

Qiu understands why Mo is asking, it’s not that he doesn’t. Mo got himself a mafia boyfriend. That’s very new for him. Mo is getting caught up in something that he doesn't understand. 

Qiu is the only one that is giving Mo Guan Shan information. Mo wants to know all that he can.

Qiu doesn’t fault him for asking. But digging the past should come with dirty-work bonus in his payment. 

“It went splendidly.”

Mo is still curious.

“Why did the girl leave for accounting?”

“MingMei was involved with Lamborghini. They were dating.”

Mo processes that one.

“She left when they broke up?”

“She left when he died.”

Mo's expression freezes.

It's cold water for Mo. Qiu knew it would be. Qiu's glad, to be honest. Mo is loyal, but he's green. Too green. He needs to know what he's getting into. 

Hell, Qiu thought he knew what he was getting into, all those years ago. He didn't. He was a street rat that got recruited into bigger league, along his partners in crime. That was all.

Lamborghini- when he died it shook Qiu. It was in the most _run of the mill job_ in the fucking world, Qiu never even saw it coming. Qiu was pushed, violently, off of his high horse. He doesn't fault MingMei for leaving.

Maybe Mo needs some shocks too.

Mo is staring off into the distance, miles away. Qiu snaps his fingers in front of his face.

“Don't break, kid. He Tian wouldn't forgive He Cheng and He Cheng wouldn't forgive me.”

“Does He Tian run this risk?”

The question makes him pause.

“…yes. Of course.” Qiu is not being paid to sugar coat it.

“How about He Cheng?”

Qiu nods. 

Mo watches him, waiting for some kind of reaction. Qiu doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He keeps smoking his cigarette.

“How do you deal with it?” Mo asks him, after a moment.

Oh.

That's a good one. 

Mo has a water bottle. Qiu didn’t notice before. It has been hanging between his fingers, forgotten. Qiu watches it balance. 

“I become strong enough, so I can be there when shit goes down. I'm competent at my job. I hire loyal people and I keep tabs on them, anyway. That’s what you can do.”

Mo needs time after that one too. 

Mo is not really a chatter box. Great surprise. Qiu isn’t either. Sometimes the conversation is just prompting Mo with a train of thought and letting Mo figure shit out on his own.

Qiu finishes the cigarette. He’s stubbing out the butt when Mo reaches some kind of conclusion.

“Mafia wife is a _shit_ job.”

“…”

Remember the good old days when Mo was afraid of him? Qiu misses those.

“You’re getting bold,” Qiu comments.

Mo snorts.

“I need to gain something out of this.”

From his association with the mafia, Mo seems to imply. At the very least he needs to grow guts.

“Isn't He Tian what you gain out of this?”

The look on Mo's face is hilarious.

“It's funny how the guy is your boyfriend and you look like you bit on a lemon when he's brought up these days.”

“He's- Whatever. I don’t look like that. But we’re not currently talking.”

Oh. 

Qiu is not equipped for teenage drama. The fuck do you do, say there there?

“Is that why you’re attempting murder on the sand bags these days?” he asks.

“Fuck off.”

“What did He Tian do?”

“...fucked off?”

“You knew he was going to do that. We're in the middle of a tug-o-war with a reviling gang, he's not safe in the country.”

Mo is awfully quiet. Qiu waits him out. 

Before Mo says anything, though, Qiu connects a couple dots. 

“...you _didn't_ know he was gonna do that.”

Mo isn’t looking at him. Mo is staring at some point in the floor. It must be incredibly interesting, based on his concentration.

“Fuck,” Mo says, finally. “Fuck Qiu. No, I didn't know He Tian was leaving again. I'm always the last fucking person to learn what is going on. I fucking hate this.”

Oh.

Qiu opens the door to the facility and holds it open behind him.

“Mafias have hierarchies. You'd rank higher than _underling_ if you joined, but from the outside there's only so much that we can tell you.”

Mo doesn’t say anything else. 

Ok then, great talk.

Qiu pulls a dummy closer to them.

“Beat this,” Qiu says, pointing.

“…doesn’t sounds like really specific training technique.”

“Now, who is training who? Beat this until you get it out of your system.”

“May take a while.”

“Great! Less work for me. Scream if you need me.” Qiu finds a sandbag and waves bye at Mo. 

…but he then hovers near anyway, and shares advice on Mo’s stance when he notices something. 

What can Qiu say. Even when he’s in a mood he’s still a good teacher.

_______________

_Still about first meetings._

The first punch hurts a lot. The second one hurts- less. Qiu leans against the chair for support. Maybe Qiu is getting used to it. 

Qiu doesn’t fight back. He can’t let the guy in on how good Qiu is at a fight. Qiu’s window of opportunity here depends on being underestimated.

Qiu is so fucked. He doesn’t have a contingency plan for this. The fuck do you do when you _steal from the mafia_?

MingMei was the one who found them this job. Some big name wanted BMW pieces and MingMei saw a fast one in their area. How fucking _high_ did she have to be to not notice the BMW she wanted to steal belong to the fucking _mafia_? Qiu will kill her himself, if this guy hasn’t already.

If-

Fuck. _Fuckfuckfuck_ -

“What did you do to Li Tao?” 

The guy frowns. “Li Tao? Your associate is called MingMei. Wang MingMei.” 

Qiu’s blood runs cold. 

“Oh, you’re testing me,” the guy notices. “Yes, I already know who your associate is. I don’t go to warehouses unprepared.”

Shit.

“What did you do to her?”

The guy’s expression is neutral. Behind that, his eyes are calculating. Qiu has the impression that this guy works with very many different strategies at the tip of his fingers.

The guy glances at the underlings behind him. Some silent exchange happens. Then the guy turns back and meets Qiu’s eyes.

_MingMei, if can hear this from the afterlife, know that I’ll fucking kill you._

“Let her go,” Qiu says, still perfectly calm. “It was entirely my idea, she wasn’t in this job. I wanted to steal from the mafia, see if I could get away with it. She didn’t know my plan and she wasn’t involved in the execution.”

“Loyal,” the guy comments. “Not very smart though.”

Qiu spits out blood. They’ll se about that.

On the next punch Qiu takes the chair that he was leaning for support and smashes it into the guy’s torso.

It crashes in an awful _crack!_ that echos in the empty warehouse.

The chair was an old ikea one, made out of wood. The guy was pushed back a feet.

The underlings make a move towards him. The guy gestures for them to stay back.

The guy’s stomach is pure muscle. A chair leg partially disassembled on impact. 

It must have hurt like a motherfucker, but the guy doesn't show it. He bends down and picks a splintered chair leg from the floor.

Qiu is still holding the chair's back with both hands.

The guy switches the leg from his right to his left hand and looks at him.

Okay. They're doing this.

_Come at me ucker._

The guy lunges with the leg.

Qiu parries it with the rest of the chair, like he would with a sword. 

It fucking _works_. 

The force against the guy's wrist must have been awful. It leaves Qiu's left side exposed, though, which is what the guy was going for. With the other hand the guy punches Qiu hard below his ribs, and then again after that.

_Shit_.

It knocks the air out of his lungs.

The guy can _throw a punch_.

Qiu is dizzy. He thinks he sees stars for a moment.

Before the third punch Qiu falls back, on pure instinct, and holds on tight to the chair with both hands.

Not yet, he counts inside his head, not yet.

The guy follows him the step that Qiu took. He raises the hand with wooden stick to- Qiu doesn't care what, _now_ , he knows, and smashes the chair against the guy's other side.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice-

The guy was prepared for it this time though. 

He grabs the chair and yanks it, hard.

Qiu struck _a chair_ at him twice now. The guy doesn't even seem out of breath. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead, some hair out of place, and not much else.

_Resilience_ , Qiu makes a note. Qiu will have to account for resilience. He needs to adapt his fighting for this guy.

The chair crashes against a warehouse wall, far away. Shit.

When the guy yanked Qiu couldn’t hold on to it. The strength of their tug-o-war, when Qiu let go, meant that the guy was knocked back. The chair went flying over his right shoulder. They stay, some four feet apart, catching their breath.

Shit.

Qiu doesn’t need a chair to fight. 

What else in this warehouse he can use?

There’s a lot scattered around the warehouse. The back wall has over forty car tools. Any of those could make for a weapon. 

But it’s too far. 

There’s nothing within a six feet radio that Qiu could easily snatch.  In his line of sight he can only spot the car engine.

“Don’t you _dare,_ ” the guy says.

The guy watches Qiu. Shit. The guy is already anticipating Qiu’s moves.

Jeez, Qiu wasn’t going to. He can’t lift up an engine during combat like this anyway.

Qiu has to catch up.

Qiu raises his hands up to eye level, and curls them into fists.

The guy narrows his eyes. He throws the chair leg that he still had away.

Fuck.

Qiu’s heart is loud in his ears.

Qiu lunges. 

The guy sways back, out of the way. His gloved hand catches Qiu’s fist and bends it back, until it hurts.

_Shit_.

“Had enough?” The guy asks. He’s looking at Qiu with lidded eyes.

No. Qiu hasn’t had enough.

The guy is finally breathing hard. His next breaths sound loud in the space between the two of them.

The guy is unruly, that’s for sure. He’s not as composed as he was when he came into the warehouse. His hair had been gelled perfectly into obedience. By now more than a few strands have come loose.

There’s sweat dripping down the side of his face. Qiu wants to fuck him up so, so bad.

The guy licks his lips.

Qiu’s eyes immediately fall to them.

Then there’s a fist close tight around Qiu’s throat. Qiu’s other hand comes up to claw desperately the guy’s arm.

“How about _now_? Had enough now?”

Shit, this fucker plays dirty. 

Qiu can’t fucking _breathe_.

The guy’s hand closes just a little tighter. Qiu can feel the guy’s thumb digging into his sensitive skin.

_Shit_.

As if emerged from water, Qiu can finally sense the _power_ that the guy has. 

Oh.

_Oh_.

He _meant_ it. When he said he speaks for the mafia, he meant it.

_He decides,_ he said. That’s it. _He’s_ the one who decides if you’re interfering with his business.

Holy shit.

The guy’s eyes are still narrowed. He’s waiting for Qiu’s answer.

Qiu nods yes. 

“I can’t understand you. What was that?”

_Yes fucker. Qiu has had enough._

The guy lets go of him. Qiu needs a long moment to catch his breath.

Holy shit.

Holy _shit_.

“Who hired you for this job?” The guys asks.

The guy's tone is more composed. The commotion's left behind. 

Fucking hell.

The guy can _switch_ violence on and off. Qiu is still fucking catching his breath. 

Still, the guy has MingMei. Qiu can’t forget that.

The guy looks at where Qiu’s blows landed on his side, cataloguing his state. He pulls up his shirt, right then and there, because he hates Qiu. Qiu watches the muscles in his stomach shift. Bruises are already starting to bloom on both sides. It’s gonna look fucking ugly in a day. 

Qiu touches his own ribs. Nothing’s broken. He’s fine. The guy seems to think he’ll be fine too. He pulls his shirt back down.

“I’ll tell you who hired us,” Qiu says, “if you give me irrefutable evidence that my associates will leave unharmed.”

Yes, that’s a reasonable request for Qiu to make, playing up his card. Except-

Qiu looks at the guy, the arrogant pose, the young face, the power in his stare. 

The muscles, while Qiu is at it.

The guy doesn’t have MingMei. 

Of course he doesn’t. Qiu just presumed and the guy ran with it. 

…Qiu understands now what the guy was saying about being dumb.

“You don’t have MingMei.”

The guy raises an eyebrow. “I don’t have MingMei. There’s hope for your skills after all.”

“Okay, now you’re just being condescending,” Qiu tells him.

The guy shakes his head, like he’s getting used to dealing with Qiu’s bullshit.

“Listen, this is all a misunderstanding,” Qiu finally says. “I didn’t know who I was stealing from and I wouldn’t have done it if I knew. We don’t want trouble with the mafia. I’ll give you the information on who hired us and we can solve this without bloodshed.”

Qiu is begging. He’s left to begging here.

The guy pulls out a cigarette.

“You’re speaking my language.”

Qiu believes it. This guy looks like he’s _good_ at handling it when blood is shed but he prefers things to be… neater.

“Do you smoke?”

Huh?

“…huh?”

“Smoking kid.” The guy shows him the pack. “Do you?”

Qiu doesn’t understand the leaps of thought this guy takes. The guy is a businessman, through and through. He doesn’t waste time if he doesn’t have to. Qiu will have to learn to keep up.

“Yeah, I do,” he answers. 

The guy hands him a cigarette too. Qiu watches him pat his pockets for a lighter. 

“…I don’t think you can call me a kid,” Qiu comments, in spite of himself. “You can’t be older than I am.”

“How old are you?” The guy asks. 

“22.”

“20,” the guy shares, unprompted. He’s not very self-aware of his age. This guy knows what he’s cable of.

The guy finds his lighter. He gets ready to light it up.

“Uhh.”

The guy looks at him.

“I work with cars mate,” Qiu points out. “There’s 13 different flammable things in the warehouse.”

“I’m sure you don’t leave oil puddles unchecked,” he says, but with the cigarette in his lips it sounds more like _I’m swure you don yive oil purows unchhet_. He’s still holding the lighter and cupping his other hand in front of his face. Qiu finds it funny, for some reason.

“I don’t _leave_ them unchecked but I have set a warehouse on fire before.”

The guy pauses.

He takes the cigarette away.

“Outside then.”

And he turns around to leave. Just like that.

Qiu wonders what the fuck just happened.

Then Qiu gets up and follows him out.

“…the dealership tycoon? He’s the one who wanted car parts from the car you stole? He’s not in a gang.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Qiu blinks. So they were just-

“…you guys really were paid for car parts by someone unrelated, someone in the _car business_ for fucks sake, and decided to get them from the mafia?”

Qiu can’t believe it himself.

“Well, you know how it is,” Qiu says. “Sometimes it’s a sunny day out and you think hmm… gonna steal from the mafia.”

The guy blows out smoke.

“You have guts, I’ll give that. Loyalty too. Not all that smart but with a learning curve.”

Qiu loses a full minute watching the guy blow out smoke. Feels like a minute anyway. 

The guy is elegant, even at this. When he shifts it makes his muscles stand out against the skin tight t-shirt, all dirty from Qiu’s chair bashes.

“…you are here to kill me after all, aren’t you?” Qiu asks. Kill Qiu via bruised ego, at least.

“Haven’t made up my mind.”

Dick. 

Qiu has known him for a total of fifteen minutes and Qiu can tell this guys is an asshole.

“Relax,” the guys says. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m willing to offer you a job actually. You’ll make a lot more than you’re doing stealing cars. I could use this kind of skill. You and your two buddies, if you’re interested. I wanted a chance to talk to you first.”

Hmm. 

“What happens if I say no?”

“Nothing. I’m not here to kill you. But you won’t be given another opportunity like this from me.”

Hmmmm.

“Wages?”

“If you agree the three of you will be doing unpaid labor until you compensate the financial loss for my subordinate. If you turn the job down you can find other ways to pay me.”

He’s obviously, obviously not talking about sex but Qiu’s mind goes there, anyway. 

He imagines _how_ he could repay this guy.

He still has those stupid gloved hands around a cigarette. It makes Qiu want things. Qiu imagines putting his hands on the guy’s chest, getting that stupid tight shirt out of the way. Qiu imagines kissing the guys stomach. Qiu imagines falling to his knees. The guy could start getting his payment right here, right now.

Real guy, not the fantasy one, flicks off ash.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” the guy tells him. His tone indicates he’s not too worried about whatever Qiu is thinking. 

Still, he could _tell_. Qiu feels self-aware about that. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about boss.”

“Right.” 

The guy pulls on his cigarette. A second later he blows it away. 

Maybe Qiu _was_ thinking it, sue him. The little smirk on the corner of the guy’s mouth says he knows.

"I don't have sex with people who owe me money."

Oh.

Too much room for them to try some shit. If Qiu had to guess anyway.  It's not exactly a _no_ and Qiu tries not to overthink it. Maybe the guy is just making conversation.

“You’re not worth it anyway,” the guy adds.

…ok, that just hurts Qiu’s ego.

“I’ll have you know I’m a fantastic lay.”

“That so.”

The guy looks at him.

“…did I wound your feelings? It’s a BMW. You do know that, right? A hooker doesn’t cost the price of a _BMW_.”

Oh. 

Right, that’s true. 

Qiu feels a little silly now that pointed it out.

“I wouldn’t do it anyway,” Qiu says, to save face. “You’re sort of ugly.”

That cracks the guy up. 

“Do you really want death kid? No one has the guts to be so bold with me.”

Qiu thinks they should. The guy looks fucking beautiful when he’s amused.

“The job, you’re in or out?” the guy asks.

Qiu wonders if he’s making a wrong choice.

“Out, thanks. I’ll take my chances with the debt.”

“Your funeral. I’ll be back in a week.”

Cool. Cool cool cool. Qiu will scream bloody murder at his team. What the fuck did MingMei and Lamborghini get them into this time? Stealing from the mafia, are they insane? 

They have a piece of his ear coming up. 

And then they will all get over it, like adults, and pull off a heist that pays a BMW. 

Easy peasy. 

It’s better than working for free for months, like this guy would have them do. The debt is easier to deal with. The BMW parts alone should cover a significant part of it.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Qiu remembers to ask.

“He Cheng."

Sounds familiar to Qiu. 

“Oh, like that He family that owns half of Hangzhou.”

“……yeah, like that. Same kanji.”

“Nice to meet you, He Cheng.”

He Cheng finishes his cigarette and takes a long look at him.

“Likewise.”


	2. Chapter 2

Right after the visit at the warehouse, Qiu starts asking around for information on He Cheng. 

Yeah. It’s a stupid ass idea. 

What can Qiu say? He’s officially curious. 

Qiu has contacts in the Hangzhou underworld. Someone will have worked with He Cheng and be willing to share something.

__________________

“Well, Mister He is very goal oriented,” a drug dealer tells him. “He values people who get straight to the point, don't waste his time.”

Hmm. Qiu could see that one coming.

__________________

Another time:

“He's a bit of a workaholic on a good day,” Lamborghini says. “And on a bad one. On all of them, really.”

“Makes sense.”

“You’re finding him so relatable, right?”

Qiu raises a finger at him. 

Lamborghini laughs. “What else. He doesn't expect everyone else to be a workaholic as well but he does expect a very competent job before you're done.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“No problem.” 

Qiu gets up to stretch himself. Lamborghini touches his shoulder, not unkind. “If I were you I’d stop though. Whatever you’re doing by digging around that guy, it will get you in trouble.”

“I think I already am actually.”

Lamborghini thinks about that one 

“Like personally? Or all of us? Over the BMW thing?”

“The BMW th-  are you crazy? It’s not a thing, we stole from the mafia.”

“And got away with it! I’m gonna put it on my CV.”

Qiu flicks him.

“The fuck you are. Where were you both doing when I was getting beaten up by the mafia, by the way?”

“…Qiu don’t be a fucking drama queen. He landed half a dozen blows and still offered you a job.”

Fuck _off_ Lamborghini, Qiu wants to be petty here.

“You both were too busy sitting on your ass in- where, exactly?”

“We were on a date.”

Oh.

Lovely.

Sometimes Qiu hates being the third wheel. 

“How romantic.”

The sarcasm flies right in over Lamborghini’s head.

“Yeah!" he says, excited. "We had just pulled off a nice job, I wanted to treat my girl.”

“That’s sweet. Did you guys go to skyscraper with a nice view of the city?”

“Oh! Actually-“

Qiu glares at him.

“Lamborghini. _Your girlfriend got us in this mess in the first place_.”

“…she’s not _my girlfriend_ when you’re happy with her. She’s _our_ associate.”

“I am not, currently, happy with her.”

“But she’s amazing!”

…Qiu doesn’t have time to address _that_. 

From somewhere beneath a car they hear some mumbling.

“Are you both gossiping about me?”

“Never,” Lamborghini says at the same time that Qiu replies,

“ _Yes_.”

Qiu pauses.

“Keep on working on this car MingMei, we need the money for the end of the week. This was your mess to begin with.”

“Yes boss.”

Qiu turns to the door again.

“Fuck you two, I’m gonna get more info on him.”

“…rest in peace,” MingMei says.

“Thanks.”

This time they don’t stop Qiu. 

Qiu has a foot out when a thought comes over him. He turns back to the shop.

“Lamborghini, you’ve actually worked directly under him, right?”

“Yeah, laundering for one of the He family clubs.”

…wait. 

What.

“He’s He Cheng as in, _the He family_?”

Lamborghini pauses. “…who the fuck did you think you were asking about?”

“I don’t know. Some 20-year-old with an authority complex.”

Holy _shit_.

Holy fucking shit.

Qiu told the He family heir he was ugly. Qiu hit the He family heir with a chair. Twice.

Lamborghini watches him.

“…you really are screwed, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“Rest in peace.”

“Shut up.”

The He family heir just sort of stared at him with amusement, more often than not. He offered Qiu a cigarette. 

Maybe Qiu hasn’t completely fucked up yet. 

He’ll trust his chances here.

Qiu turns to leave again. 

Lamborghini speaks up.  “What did you want to know? When you asked if I’d worked directly with him?”

“Oh. I was wondering if you knew if he’s single.”

“…”

“…”

“Get out of my warehouse. He Cheng will _hear_ about this somehow and beat me up.”

“Our warehouse babe. Su casa es mi casa.”

__________________

With a con artist, that same day:

“Low key frigid.”

Qiu pauses at that one. 

“...aren't you afraid it's gonna get back to him?”

“It's not insubordination,” the guys says. “He doesn't mind being called it. He's _really_ good at his job and he appreciates good work from others, but he's pretty frigid. Don't expect any smiles.” 

...that's strange. 

He Cheng smiled, like, four times when recruiting Qiu. Qiu remembers. 

Was that a fluke?

What did Qiu do that brought it out in him? 

Or maybe Qiu didn’t do anything. The guy was just in a good mood. There’s no need for Qiu to get arrogant here. But Qiu knows he smiled.

“It's just not his modus operandi, you know?” The guys is saying. “When you adjust your expectations you can recognise when he's satisfied or not without waiting for fanfare.”

“Yeah, makes sense. Thanks.”

Qiu has a lot to think about.

“Are you done gossiping about me?”

“Holy fucking shit, where the fuck did you come from?"

He Cheng points behind him.

“The door.”

Great. That’s lovely, he’s sarcastic to boot.

Qiu didn’t expect to see him again so soon. Qiu wasn’t emotionally prepared for it.

The guy is dressed much more fancy this time. He actually has a suit, an expensive watch. He still looks hot as fuck. Nothing quite clings to his body like before but it’s made to suit him. Qiu's eyes linger on his hands. The guy doesn’t have the gloves this time. Qiu doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or not.

“You said we had a week to pay.”

“I grew bored. You’re asking about me.”

….shit.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about boss.”

Qiu's cheery warehouse mates are actually in this time. They’re making themselves surprisingly scarce. 

In an open plan warehouse Qiu has no clue _how_ they’re accomplishing it.  There’s some feet poking beneath a car that he thinks it’s MingMei. Lamborghini is… hiding behind a cabinet? Fucked if Qiu knows.

Qiu takes a cloth from a nearby table and cleans his hands.

“Sorry about hitting you with a chair the other day. Uh, the first time. And the second time. Sorry about chairs, in general.”

“…you’re sorry about chairs?”

“Yes. No. I mean, unless you’re tired! Then chairs are acceptable.”

Qiu hears a snort coming from beneath a car. He Cheng has the most confused expression that Qiu has seen on him so far.

“You see,” Qiu tries again. “It has been brought to my attention that you are the He family heir. And I hit you with a chair. I would, in fact, like to continue to live, so I wanted to apologise for that.”

He Cheng’s face slowly clears. 

“Took you long enough.”

He Cheng doesn’t seem too worried about it. Qiu isn’t either, then.

“You’re dressed up today, boss,” Qiu comments.

He Cheng glances down at himself. “I had a meeting.”

Nice.

He seems older, like this. 

If Qiu was in that meeting he’d feel intimidated. 

Qiu, personally, is still looking like he fought a transformer and lost. Price of car dealings.

“I apologise for-" Qiu starts. "I mean, I work with cars. There’s always some grease stain around.”

He Cheng’s eyes slide over him, down all the way back up.

“Yes. I’ve noticed.” 

Ouch. 

Qiu wonders if he is that bad. He tries to discreetly look. 

The guy notices. He rolls his eyes. 

“…I don’t care about that shit Qiu. Suits are part of business for me, doesn’t mean I’m hung up on them.”

Oh.

“You don’t want me in a suit, boss?”

He Cheng looks at him again.

“No,” He Cheng says.

Qiu’s table starts coughing, choked.

…Qiu’s table.

For the tables sake, Qiu hopes it is not choking on laughter.

Qiu kicks beneath the table, anyway, just to make sure anyway.

“Ouch,” comes from the general direction of the table. 

“I’m helping with the choking.”

“You’re really not,” Lamborghini tells him.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been hiding beneath a table anyway. And laughing at him. Fucker. Qiu kicks again.

He Cheng watches the scene with curiosity.

“Nevermind that,” Qiu tells him. “Do you feel more comfortable in street clothes, boss?”

“I feel comfortable wearing the right thing for the occasion. Don’t distract me. You’ve been asking about me.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not. Do your associates wish to meet me?”

Uh.

“I think this one is hiding beneath a table because he doesn’t want to, boss. The other has a lot of car work to do to compensate a debt she got us into.”

“I thought she had nothing to do with the job?”

Oh.

Right, Qiu did say that.

“If you want to beat her, she doesn’t. Hey, wait.”

Something comes up to him.

He Cheng waits. He looks at Qiu with a raised eyebrow.

“Do you like cars boss?”

“I’m not against them.”

…leave to He Cheng to express interest in the most boring way possible. 

“Do you want to buy Cadillac parts? We’re selling them cheap. We have a debt to cover by Friday.”

“…where did you get a Cadillac?”

“…not the mafia. We checked this time.”

That hint of a smile again. 

The guy looks almost soft, when he shows amusement a little.

That one source said he wouldn’t mind being called frigid. Qiu doesn’t think it’s true. 

No one wants to be talked about like that. Maybe the cold is something that He Cheng has to do, as part of this job. 

Something that they all have to. 

They have all seen their fare share of violence. You survive it by getting a little colder, a little sharper around the edges. But you still want to be able to smile at a good joke. And at a bad one too.

Qiu puts the cloth away

“Boss you don’t wanna miss out on this deal. This is the best Cadillac you’ve ever seen.”

“I thought you were selling me parts. Now it’s the full car?”

“I’m sure you have people to take care of the stolen car being traced thing. You will want this car when you meet it.”

“…when I _meet it_?”

“Absolutely. She’s a beauty. 2013, less than a thousand clicks - you can check the odometer, stolen without any bloodshed — not that it’d be hard to clean blood stains from this smooth leather interior…”

He Cheng smiles.

Yeah.

Qiu will start keeping tab on those.

This feels special, somehow, like the start of something.

________________

“Did you have a nickname too?” Mo asks. “Like Lamborghini?”

They’re in the kitchenette area of the training facility, having coffee. Yeah, coffee. Qiu is found of hypocrisy. Such as having physical training and following that up by consuming shit that is bad for your body. God knows Qiu has a caffeine addiction by now.

“Yeah, I had a nickname”

Mo Guan Shan looks over his coffee at him. 

“Shut up,” Qiu tells him, preemptively. And then: “White Shark.”

“ _White Shark_?”

“What did I just tell you about shutting up?”

Guan Shan has the guts to _laugh_. 

Qiu flips him off.

“You’re a shit, kid.”

“Fuck off. White shark, seriously. How about Wang MingMei?” Mo asks.

“Oh, she was One hit wonder. But her reputation didn't precede her. Everyone knew Lamborghini as Lamborghini but only the closest ones knew who one hit wonder was. She preferred the mystery.” 

“Hmm. Because she was crime world famous?”

“Sure. She ran most of her jobs without physical confronts, she was great at getting in and out without being spotted and all. But when she was spotted, I don’t know how to explain it… She was amazing at physical combat. One hit is an exaggeration but it didn’t take her much more than that. She knew all that acupressure point stuff and she was strong.” 

“One hit wonder.”

“Well, not everyone got up for a second round against her.”

Mo hums.

“White shark, Lamborghini and One hit wonder, terrorising the streets of Hangzhou.”

Shit.

Qiu feels a pang of nostalgia.

“More like stealing some cars,” Qiu says. “But you get the gist.”

Mo Guan Shan is still curious. Qiu can tell.

“You didn’t answer last time,” Mo brings up. “If you turned him down, how did you guys actually get recruited?”

“Through the power of love.”

“…I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Through the power of sex? I don’t know what to tell you. I started sleeping with the boss, eventually he talked me into getting a better job. MingMei and Lamborghini came with, we were a closed deal those days.”

“How come she’s in _accounting_?”

“No clue. She never set foot in an university. If she has a diploma for the job, it was forged.”

Mo is quiet.

Mo usually is. 

More often than not Qiu has no fucking clue what he’s thinking.

They drink their coffee in silent. 

Mo speaks up again when Qiu is almost done.

“How the fuck did I get caught up in this?” 

Oh.

The question is rhetorical. Qiu can tell. Still, Qiu considers it anyway. How did this kid get caught up in this?

“I'd say through the same power but meh. You're the kind of guy who would find your way into trouble, sooner or later.”

Mo process that one for a while. Qiu nurses his coffee.

“I would,” Mo says, eventually. “I was getting caught up in a little street gang with a psycho leader. I left but the guy was after me. He Tian made him fuck off.”

“You did good by leaving. Street rats end up recruited by bigger league or dead.” 

One long sip of his coffee.

Then,

“…is that what's going on here? I'm being recruited by bigger league?”

“You said you wouldn't work for us.”

“You don't believe me,” Mo guesses.

Hmm. 

Qiu might as well say it.

“I don’t believe you. I think you'll join, sooner or later. You won’t sit at home praying that He Tian is alive each night. If you can be involved, I think you will.”

Mo takes a long time with that one.

“…ouch.”

Yeah.

Qiu is not paid to coddle anyone’s feelings.

Still, 

“He Tian is in another country, you’re underage. It’s not shit that’s happening now. Drink your coffee.”

________________

_About Mo Guan Shan getting caught up in this._

“Do you want gossip on your brother?”

He Cheng flips a page in the document he’s reading.

“Not particularly.”

Qiu will understand that as a yes.

“Before leaving today, he and the teen you’re having me watch over, redhead,-”

“Mo Guan Shan,” he says, without looking at Qiu. 

…Qiu knows Guan Shan’s name. Qiu is just pitching in the fact that he has to watch over a _teenager,_ hormonal and idiots as they are. Maybe He Cheng will grow some empathy.

Qiu watches He Cheng. 

He Cheng highlights something. After a moment he flips to the next page.

…no empathy at all.

Oh, well. It was a long shot.

“Yeah,” Qiu says. “Mo Guan Shan. He came to your place to say goodbye to He Tian before He Tian left the country.” Gossip part: “they kissed.”

“Hmm.”

…that’s vague.

He Cheng’s expression is pretty neutral.

“Any feelings about it?” Qiu asks.

“I sort of saw it coming.”

“Your little brother is getting old. They grow up so fast.”

“Fucking tell me about it.”

He Cheng finally puts the paper down. 

He stretches his neck, with quite a bit of exertion. When he hears a click he seems satisfied.

“Does that mean you’re old too, sir? By nature of being the oldest sibling?”

“Fucking call me old to my face, dickhead. I’ll have you sleeping on the couch for a year.”

That-

Oh.

Qiu doesn’t live here. 

Right? 

Sex aside, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t live here. He’s pretty, pretty sure He Cheng doesn’t want him living here. The way that He Cheng talks about it sometimes, it almost sounds like Qiu does. 

“Why the couch, boss? There’s many guest rooms in the house.”

“And you’ll be forbidden from any of them, try me. Call me old again.”

Qiu wouldn’t dare.

“You’re very young sir.”

“That’s right.”

“Jovial.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Bathing in the bright springs of youth.”

“…Qiu, the fuck-“

“A pupil in your salad days.”

He Cheng stares at Qiu.

“…ok, you’re unassigned from talking. Don’t do that anymore.”

He Cheng gets up and starts walking, without waiting for Qiu. 

Qiu hurries to catch up.

“What do I do instead boss?”

“Do I look like I fucking care? Go find my brother-in-law, see if anyone has attacked him yet.”

“A team has relieved me for the night shift.”

“Go catch some moths. Scuba diving, I don’t give a shit.”

Well. 

If he doesn’t really care Qiu will continue following him. If it’s all the same to He Cheng anyway.

“A sprog in the good ol’ days of bloom.”

“Qiu, I _will_ murder you.”

________________

“I want to make my mom proud though,” Mo says another day, again out of the blue. 

They’re getting ready for a fight. Qiu is leaning against a pole, up on the ring. Mo is still finishing the hand wrappings.

Qiu feels confused. They exchanged maybe three words before this today and it wasn’t anything complex. 

It takes Qiu a second to follow the train of thought.

Oh.

“Drop 50k in her account,” Qiu says, “tell her she’ll never have to struggle with money again. It’s different ways to care for your family.”

“She’d worry about me.”

“The alternative is you worrying about He Tian. It’s a cycle. Someone is always the one left at home.”

Mo considers that.

“…you don’t think that one will be me.”

“I don’t think you have the personality for being the one at home, no.”

Mo thinks on that one for a while. He stretches his hands, one way and the other.

“I don’t know how far I’m willing to go for this,” he says. His voice sounds small. “It fucking scares me.”

Yeah. That makes sense to Qiu.

“Scares you because you think you’ll go too far or because you won’t go far enough?” Qiu asks.

Silence.

“…I’m not trying to convince you here,” Qiu adds. It’s important to make the distinction clear. “Do whatever the fuck you want. I’m sharing what I _think_ will happen.”

“You’re so kind.”

“Well, you know me. Can’t see a smaller guy in need.”

Mo flips him off. …or tries to, in either case. With the wrappings his finger doesn’t come all the way up. Qiu will be _magnanimous_ here and consider the message delivered anyway.

Qiu pulls up the rope around the training ring. Mo comes up.

“You guys are back to speaking?” Qiu asks, just to change the subject. Mo has been less aggressive with the dummies.

“Yeah.”

“What, He Tian said he missed you and you caved?”

“..."

Qiu is expecting a scathing come back, the kind of back and forth that one gets used to around Mo Guan Shan.

The deathly silence is sort of a giveaway.

“...he _did_ say he missed you and you caved?”

“Shut up.”

“No, it's inspiring. Even Mo Guan Shan can be a soft bitch.”

“Call me a bitch again dick.”

“Bitch.”

The kid swings at him. Which is, you know, the point of boxing, so they're finally back on track. Qiu ain't very worried.

“Next time try to actually hit me.”

“You're a fucking dick.”

“And you can’t hit me.”

The next one lands much closer. Qiu sways left, but Mo still gazes him. Mo gets excited about that one. He may get good at this, one of these days. 

Not today though.

He still has a lot to learn.

Qiu braces himself.

“Again.”

________________

“I’m up next,” He Cheng announces. “Whoever wins goes a round against me.”

Mo loses 15 seconds after that.

Qiu didn’t even hit him with that much force. He half suspects that Mo flung himself to the floor.

“…that’s just exaggerated,” He Cheng tells Mo. “Grow some balls kid.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Mo is sprawled on the ground. He’s still staring at the ceiling.

Qiu pokes him with a foot.

“I’d say he has a good sense for danger, boss.”

“I’d say he’s an idiot. Get up then, if you’re not fighting.”

Mo gets up. He Cheng holds up the rope. Mo climbs down the ring and sits down to watch them. 

He Cheng vacates the space he left.

Shit. Qiu is ready.

Nothing compares to the thrill of fighting He Cheng. They are in sync. There’s a pace between the two of them that no one else matches. 

Qiu falls back a step to gains momentum and thinks about slow, sensual fucking.

Qiu lunges and thinks about He Cheng’s nails digging into his skin, until he gasps.

He Cheng kicks high on Qiu’s stomach. 

_Shit_. 

Qiu is dizzy. Qiu takes hold of He Cheng’s foot before he can pull away. _What now, He Cheng?_ Qiu kicks hard in the direction of the other foot to destabilise He Cheng.

Qiu misses. 

He Cheng spins the foot in Qiu's hand. It's a tight-working manoeuvre, something that Qiu didn’t anticipate it. Fuck. He Cheng manages to pull free.

He Cheng smirks.

Qiu admires that. He Cheng makes arrogance look good.

When he has both feet on the ground again He Cheng leaps at him, fists held high.

Qiu sways left to doge a punch and stretches his neck until there’s a satisfying click.

He Cheng's fighting style is hit until he _makes it_ , wave crashing after fucking wave, because even if the adversary dodges, they're still exerting themselves. He Cheng wins when it comes to resilience.

Qiu style is to dodge, unrelenting force, until he gets an opening. 

All he needs in that one window.

_I haven’t had enough yet my love. Come closer._


	3. Chapter 3

Watching He Cheng in the mornings is a _pleasure_ , in and of itself. 

Qiu can't explain the experience. It's like... hmm. It's like watching a chrysalis give way to a butterfly. 

He Cheng would fucking beat him if he heard Qiu calling him a butterfly. 

It's apt, though. He Cheng wakes up in a _mood_ , with awful bedhead. He curses the mother of the alarm clock, his extended family, and then he gets up, anyway. As Qiu watches as He Cheng paddles barefoot across the room, into the bathroom.

He Cheng brushes his teeth half dead to the world. A strong wind could blow him over, Qiu wages. By the time He Cheng finishes shaving, though, he is marginally more awake. Maybe something to do with having a lethal object in his hands. He Cheng still uses those old razors, more often than not.

“You're just flexing,” Qiu calls, from the bed.

“What does that mean?”

“Showing off your skills.”

One more stroke, from mid neck to chin, and He Cheng is done. He turns his head both ways to watch his work.

“Those disposable razors are trash. They never give the same feeling.”

“Of course, boss. Nothing to do with having a weapon in your hands.”

“I could attack someone with a disposable razor too.”

Qiu doesn't doubt that. 

Qiu could, too. It's all about the timing.

“But yeah,” He Cheng adds, “I like having a blade when I can.”

“If someone broke in at shit o'clock in the morning you'd be ready.”

“Something like that.”

A streak of light is reflecting on Qiu, coming in from the window. Qiu watches it on his skin. Hedoesn't make any moves to get up. He Cheng will be done soon enough.

A shower and He Cheng's even resembling a real person.

He stops in the mirror again. In three minutes, he combs his hair back and and gels it into perfect obedience. 

Butterfly, Qiu thinks. It's like he's transforming, piece by piece, into the persona he wears outside.

“You're thinking some bullshit, aren't you?”

“You're a butterfly, boss.”

“.............I don't wanna know.”

He Cheng finishes. He looks at Qiu, still sprawled out in bed.

“...don't you have anywhere to be?”

“It's my day off. I’ve been reminded not to use those to train teenagers.”

“You shouldn't _have_ to be reminded at all,” He Cheng tells him, distracted. He Cheng pulls out a white dress shirt and slips into it.“You're a fucking workaholic.”

He Cheng’s hands hover over his ties. He settles on a black one. Tie gets dropped over his right shoulder.

“...pot, kettle, kettle, pot?” Qiu answers him.

“Yeah, yeah.”

He Cheng starts doing up the buttons on the shirt slowly, movements still lethargic from the early morning. Qiu follows the path of his fingers with hungry eyes.

“I'm halfway out the door," He Cheng comments. “I can do shit nothing about your boner.”

“I know.”

Qiu (finally, _finally_ ) gets up.

Qiu pushes He Cheng's hands out of the way. He Cheng lets them fall. Qiu does up a button himself, carefully, and then another after it. 

“You should wake up earlier boss. So we'd have some time in the mornings.”

He Cheng is watching him. It’s insane how much power He Cheng has over Qiu. Qiu almost fucking shivers under the weight of his stare. 

He meets He Cheng’s eyes. 

Qiu keeps going by feel alone, holding eye contact.

When Qiu reaches the button on his neck He Cheng tilts his head back, accommodating. Qiu turns to look at his exposed neck. 

Shit. 

Qiu has to- Qiu lays a kiss at He Cheng's pulse point. When He Cheng swallows Qiu feels the movement against his skin.

_Shit_.

Qiu bites, just to feel his reaction. He Cheng’s next breath comes out shaky.

_Fucking_ hell, Qiu wants-

Qiu thumbs open the last button that he closed. He slips his fingers between the shirt and skin, lets his thumb dig into the pulse point in He Cheng’s neck.

“Are you still jealous over the Mo training?” Qiu asks.

“I’m not jealous,” He Cheng says immediately.

Sure he isn’t.

“Sure you aren’t. Are you still playing hard to get boss? I _want_ you.”

“ _Qiu_.”

“I fucking _want_ you. I could fall down to my knees right now and show you.” Qiu is hard just thinking about it.

He Cheng hands come up around Qiu.

“I have a meeting in one hour.”

Mixed signals here. Qiu bites hard on He Cheng's neck.

“You’re the boss,” Qiu tells him.

He Cheng’s nails dig into Qiu’s back.

“Yeah,” He Cheng says. He’s trying hard to remain composed. “So what, I’m late for my own meeting?”

Qiu would say that’s a spectacular plan.

He Cheng looks at him.  “I have a busy life, you know. Maybe you shouldn’t be spending all your time mentoring the kid.”

“Thought you weren’t jealous.”

He Cheng narrows his eyes.

He Cheng’s phone rings.

…no.

“Don’t pick it up.”

He Cheng pulls out of Qiu’s embrace. He reaches out and takes the phone from his bedside table.

“He Cheng speaking.”

He Cheng listens in silence for a moment. 

Qiu tries to watch He Cheng’s reactions for an idea of what is being said on the other side of the line. He Cheng remains too composed for Qiu to read him. 

And then, 

“What the _fuck_ do you mean?”

More silence. Qiu is sorry for whoever is on the other side of the line.

Finally, He Cheng sighs.

“I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up and throws the phone towards the bed.

“We’re missing cargo at the harbor. The men don’t know if the supplier is shortening us or if the shipment got robbed after docking.”

Qiu translates that for _he’s gotta go_.

Shit. 

He Cheng seems shaken up too.

“I wish we had time,” He Cheng says. It's the closest he gets to an overt declaration, most days. Qiu knows to take it for what it is.

“Yeah,” Qiu agrees. Qiu steps away. 

He Cheng lingers in place, for one second, and then he starts getting dressed.

Qiu sprawls out on bed again, and doesn’t interfere this time.

“Ok,” He Cheng says when he’s done. “I have to go.”

“I don't need no explanation baby. You're the boss at home.”

He Cheng narrows his eyes.

“...you know I don't keep up with your Top Hits bullshit.”

“Ah, but you _knew_ it was top hits bullshit. I'll convert you yet boss.”

“Keep trying. See ya. Feed the dog.”

“Will do.”

The moment He Cheng is out the door Qiu pushes his underwear down. Yeah. Yeah, he’s gonna have a long, hard wank thinking about this. Qiu is teasing He Cheng but it’s in vain. All of Qiu’s plans seem to back fire, when it comes to He Cheng.

It’s an entire day off, He Cheng says. Qiu will see what he can get up to.

________________

Ok, there’s only so much wanking one can do. Qiu is bored. Qiu tries not to think of himself as a workaholic but he sure as fuck is. 

The fuck do normal people do with all of this free time? Stare at the ceiling? Count sheep? Maybe Qiu needs a hobby.

Maybe- no, wait. That was a good one. Maybe he needs a hobby. Not really yoga, but, you know. Something. Qiu can’t cook for shit, he’s never been good at art. 

Maybe it’s time to learn a new skill.

________________

_An undefined number of hours later..._

“…did you genuinely take up yoga?” He Cheng asks, an undefined number of hours later.

“It’s good for your body _and_ your soul boss!”

“You’re ridiculous. I want shit nothing to do with that.”

Qiu closes his eyes. 30 seconds of peace. Qiu actually counts inside his head. 28, 29, 30-

“The _fuck_ did you do to my kitchen?”

…well. About that.

“That’s a _great_ story actually-“ Qiu says.

“…wait, the colour on your shirt Qiu, the splatters, is that _paint_?”

“Yoga boss. I can feel that yoga will be the right one.”

“So you’ve been hobby hopping- Qiu.”

“Boss.”

Qiu exhales on an upward movement. He feels peaceful, vitalised. He Cheng can’t win here. “Boss,” Qiu says again. “It’s yoga. I found my calling.”

“How long have you _been_ into yoga?”

“…thirty minutes?”

“…”

Well. About that.

“Another _great_ story, actually,” Qiu tells him.

“Next time I’m just gonna let you work.”

Oh.  Thank _god_.

Qiu drops the stance and follows him into the kitchen.

“I’ve been studying culinary, I’ll make us dinner.“

He Cheng has been ignoring Qiu’s mess. He’s standing next to the microwave, and waiting out the timer. There’s instant coffee and a spoon on the counter next to him. When He Cheng processes Qiu's words he glances up at him.

“You don’t have to,” He Cheng says.

“I want to.”

“You _really_ don’t have to.”

“Are you sure?”

He Cheng looks subtly at the rest of the kitchen. “…I’m- I’m sure.”

“I’ll make something really special for you baby.”

He Cheng’s reaction is priceless.

He has this deer in the headlights face, looking for a way out. It’s so funny.

Qiu can’t help it. He cracks up.

It takes a second for He Cheng to catch up. He ruffs, finally, realisation dawning on him. He pushes Qiu away. 

Still worth it, Qiu thinks.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m fucking with you, yes.”

“Qiu I'd trust you with my life. Do I trust you with making dinner? No. I pay people for that. Please, and I mean this, stay away from the kitchen. There’s a coffee maker in here and that’s what I trust you with.”

Yeah. Worth it.

Coffee and work. Oh my, how will Qiu survive?? …alright, fine, if you’re making him, then fine.

“Deal,” Qiu says, and means it.

________________

_About a change in plans._

When Qiu walks into the warehouse, MingMei _whistles_. 

Jeez. That bad? Qiu looks down at himself. He didn’t think he was trying too hard.

“You’re looking nice today, boss.”

“…it’s just a clean shirt.” Black jeans, sneakers. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“Yeah, but it’s _clean_.”

Shit. In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king or something like that.

MingMei seems downright wistful. Qiu rolls his eyes. Maybe she can’t remember the last time _she_ wore a clean shirt herself.

“…you work with cars,” Qiu reminds her. “Grease comes with it.”

“Yeah, I know. So why did you dress up today boss? Ooh the guy is coming over today to collect the debt.”

Yeah. The guys is coming over to collect the debt. Qiu doesn’t know what he was thinking either. He just didn’t want to look grease stained for once.

Besides, the guy said he didn’t sleep with people who owed him a debt and after today Qiu won’t…

Shit. Qiu doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

They work in silence for the rest of the day. Qiu is almost jittery with nerves by the time the mafia comes around.

“They’re here.” MingMei says. Yeah. Qiu could hear it too.

It plays out much the same way as first time, with men coming into the warehouse and assuming strategic positions around the way out.

Except...

No He Cheng.

Shit.

Qiu didn’t anticipate that one.

“Where’s the boss?” Qiu asks.

There’s a moment of silence after that.

The guy doesn’t come every time there’s a random debt to collect, Qiu is informed. When Qiu pushes he finds out there was trouble at a business dealing with a drug dealer and He Cheng had to take care of it today.

Oh.

Oh, Qiu is not disappointed. Really.

Qiu has the money owed.

It’s fine. It would be fine, really, except paying their debt concludes their business with the He family. He Cheng has no reason to come to come to the warehouse anymore.

He Cheng has no reason to come to come to the warehouse anymore.

Shit.

Qiu _won’t see him_ again.

Qiu swears he’s not disappointed.

________________

Qiu won’t see him, _shhh MingMei, Qiu is having some thoughts here_ , Qiu won’t see him again unless Qiu steals from the fucking mafia again, or does something equally stupid. Like go looking for him.

"...and will you?"

Well.

________________

He Cheng is at one of the He family’s clubs.

Qiu can see him sitting at a table. He’s with men dressed in similar in suits, drinking expensive whiskey. 

Business. 

Qiu won’t approach then. He orders himself a beer and hovers by the bar.

The club has a purple and black themed decor. It’s in the chairs, on the walls. The lights are UV. Neon party. All the white’s stand out in bright contrast.

Qiu wonders how his hair is looking under the blacklight. He hopes it’s not too weird.

He takes a sip of his beer. He may have to wait for awhile. Qiu seeks He Cheng out again, just to have an idea of how long the business is going to take.

He Cheng’s already looking at him.

Oh.

That didn’t take long. Qiu drinks his beer, looking back.

He Cheng narrows his eyes.

Shit, how paranoid does the guy have to be. _I’m not here for_ ** _bad_** _reasons,_ Qiu tries to send with his eyes. _I’m just a harmless guy having a beer_.

Well. Harmless may be a stretch. Qiu is capable of violence. But Qiu is not feeling violent, right now. He’s intrigued.

Maybe a little drawn to He Cheng, in a way he can’t quite explain.

He Cheng runs his eyes over him, and back up. Qiu burns hot. He Cheng has so much _power_ over him. Qiu can barely focus when He Cheng’s attention is on him.

The moment hangs, suspended in air. 

And then He Cheng turns back to his table.

Oh.

That was fun while it lasted.

He Cheng is not going back to the conversation though. He’s making his excuses. 

_Oh_ , that’s better. Qiu feels a thrill surging beneath his skin.

_He Cheng is coming over._

Qiu turns around, now that he doesn’t need to stare anymore, and plays it cool.

He Cheng leans against the bar to Qiu’s left.

“You guys really did come up with the money, I’ve been told. Impressive.”

Qiu smiles.

“We’re resourceful.”

He turns towards He Cheng.

Shit, He Cheng has been in a fight. It’s clear now that he’s close. Split lip, bandages on his neck. He’s not in the best shape.

“What happened to you?”

“Trouble with a client earlier.”

He Cheng taps his fingers on the bar. His knuckles are bruised.

Qiu can imagine trouble with a client. Just last week Qiu was the one hitting him with a chair. This industry is unforgiving.

He Cheng leans his weight that the bar. He doesn’t seem too worried about. For some reason, that’s when Qiu remembers that He Cheng had been busy.

“What about the business with the men in suits?”

He Cheng frowns. “What men- oh, the ones at the table? Business is done. Doing business at the club comes with this downside. Negotiations tend to go very well here, the atmosphere puts clients at ease. But after an agreement is reached the meeting doesn’t have a clear end.”

Qiu can understand that one easy enough. 

“They want to stay and have a drink.”

“They want to stay and have a drink,” He Cheng agrees, “and they want _me_ to join. It’s impolite to say no. I don’t mind the first shot but then there isn’t a good moment to extricate yourself.”

Hmm.

“I’m acting as your excuse here.”

The thought doesn’t bother Qiu. Qiu can imagine He Cheng after a meeting, taking one look at him across the room and saying, _sorry, that man over there has some urgent updates for me. You guys enjoy your evening._ He Cheng can use him as an excuse whenever he wants.

He Cheng gestures to the bartender and orders himself a drink. Qiu watches him.

The moment is now. Qiu knows it is. 

Qiu has to make a move. 

If He Cheng says no that’s it, no need to be upset. But at least Qiu will know.

Right?

Fuck.

Now or never.

“Can I buy you a drink He Cheng?” Qiu asks. 

He might be nervous. He wants really really badly for He Cheng to say yes.

He Cheng frowns.

“… _now_?” He Cheng asks. “I’ve already ordered something by now. It was terribly impolite that you didn’t offer.”

…what.

“I thought you were being cheap,” He Cheng adds.

Qiu gets the impression - 

(perhaps understands for the first time) 

\- that He Cheng is a few steps ahead of him. When it comes to the two of them.

He Cheng’s eyes are amused. 

Scratch that.

He Cheng _knows_ that he is a few steps ahead of Qiu. He seems to be having fun with that.

“You _are_ being cheap, aren’t you? Waited until I ordered so you could make an empty offer. Shit Qiu, you’re gonna hit on someone, at least pay for the guy’s drink.”

Holy shit.

Holy _shit_ , Qiu is a lucky man.

Qiu pulls out his wallet. A twenty usually covers a drink but-

“…you drink stuff that is terribly pretentious, don’t you?” Qiu asks.

“Why would you possibly think that?”

Qiu will take that as a yes. He leaves a fifty at the bar.

“…okay, no need to exaggerate. I’m not _that_ pretentious,” He Cheng tells him. “What are you having?”

Qiu is having a normal beer..? Longneck. 

He Cheng covers Qiu’s fingers at the neck and pulls it out of Qiu’s hands.

Is he going to…

He Cheng pulls the bottle up to his own lips. He looks at Qiu. It’s almost a challenge. _What, is there a problem?_

No. There isn’t one single problem at all.

He Cheng’s lip catches on the rim. It’s there for one long torturous second before He Cheng places the bottle properly.

The lip injury just makes his skin stand out in stark contrast. The sight is so _dirty_. Qiu can barely fucking breathe. He’s never felt so enraptured in a gesture before.

He Cheng watches him. The noise from the club and everything seems to dull. All that matters is He Cheng, his hands, his lips. His smile around the beer bottle. 

Qiu has no clue what is being reflected on his own face. Raw fucking desire, probably. He Cheng’s grip on the bottle is strong. Qiu _might be going insane_ here

He Cheng closes his eyes. He Cheng’s tongue flicks against the rim, before he takes a long swig. Qiu can’t take his eyes away. 

The bartender comes around with what He Cheng signalled for. 

It shakes the moment, just a little. Not enough to shatter Qiu’s arousal, but enough to remind Qiu of everything else. 

Shit. 

They’re at a bar, right? There’s a bar involved. Neon lights. For a moment Qiu could imagine them completely alone.

Qiu looks at what the bartender is setting down on the bar. 

Whiskey. 

Qiu remembers, perhaps a little late, that this was prompted by He Cheng wanting to prove that he is not pretentious. He Cheng has proven something, alright. Maybe not that though.

“Add it to my tab,” Qiu tells the bartender.

The bartender hesitates. 

He Cheng looks at the guy too. There’s some non-verbal communication going on there. When the bartender appears to get permission he turns back to Qiu. “Uh, sir. The boss doesn’t pay at the club. It doesn’t make sense to charge you.”

…seriously.

“Then _why_ did you make a big deal out of it?” Qiu asks He Cheng.

“It’s the principle of the thing, Qiu.”

Men. Qiu will never understand them.

“I’ve changed my mind,” He Cheng is saying, “you can take this back please. I’ll stick with beer. Clear his tab.”

“Yes sir.” 

The bartender leaves. Qiu raises an eyebrow.

“I drink for free too?”

“I hear you know the owner,” He Cheng tells him. Qiu enjoys the casual way the words roll off his tongue.

_He Cheng knows him_. 

Qiu takes the beer back and takes another swig.

“Lucky me.”

Down on the dance floor, things appear to be heating up. The music starting is something that Qiu recognises, from top hits radio. The crowd goes wild for it. Qiu watches the scene with curiosity.

He Cheng’s hand covers his at the bottle and he takes it back. Oh. Qiu doesn’t mind sharing.

The dancing draws Qiu’s attention again. What stands out the most from crowd are the patterns of bright neon paint. 

Qiu goes to take the bottle back and notices that between the two of them they’ve finished the beer. He turns back to He Cheng.

“Do you wanna dance boss?”

He Cheng takes a long look at him. Qiu feels the urge to squirm. He doesn’t think he said anything that weird. It’s a club. Loud music, bright lights. You just gotta sway to the rhythm. 

Qiu knows that this job demands a certain level of seriousness but the dude is twenty, right? That’s perfect age for dancing at a club. Qiu hopes He Cheng still gets to do that.

“Alright,” He Cheng says, and starts walking. 

Holy shit.

He Cheng’s going away from the dance floor though, towards the stairs on the corridor to the left.

“Aren’t you going the wrong way boss?”

“I’m not gonna dance on the dance floor. I have a reputation to maintain when I’m here, I can’t be seen behaving carelessly in one of our own clubs.”

Oh. Of course.

So wait, where are they-

“My office is upstairs. You can still hear the music from there.”

Oh.

_Oh._

He Cheng knows where he’s going. Qiu just follows his lead.

________________

Upstairs they reach a black door, guarded by the security. The guards nod at He Cheng, and part to let them through.

He Cheng opens the door and holds it open for Qiu.

“Such a gentleman.”

“I have my days.”

They walk in. He Cheng closes the door behind them.

Inside the office, the noise from downstairs comes muffled. Qiu didn’t even notice how loud the music was.

“Nice room,” Qiu says.

It’s spacious. Bookshelves to the left, an oak desk and chairs by the windo-

He Cheng lays his hands on Qiu’s chest and pushes. Qiu is pressed flush against the wall.

“Yeah, it’s a nice decor,” He Cheng comments. 

“Feng shui?” Qiu asks. 

Half a smile.

“Qiu.”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t give a shit about the decor.”

Yeah. Qiu doesn’t either. He Cheng stares at his lips.

There’s no _room_ between them. 

He Cheng leans a hand against the wall, on Qiu’s right side. Qiu is so hot he can hardly fucking breathe.

And then He Cheng closes his eyes, and sways to the music.

Holy _fuck_.

Qiu had no idea what he was asking for when he told He Cheng he wanted to dance. He Cheng knows what he’s doing. 

He leans his head back, in time with the music. Qiu’s eyes trace the exposed skin of his neck. 

Qiu imagines the skin blossoming with a bruise, after Qiu sucked on it. Qiu’s never felt such _hunger_ in his life.

The song is something poppy with an electronic beat. Qiu can’t for the life of him focus on the lyrics. The mood distracts him. He can _hear_ his heart speeding up.

“Didn’t you want to dance?” He Cheng asks him, without opening his eyes. “Dance with me Qiu.”

Qiu draws his hands around He Cheng’s waist. He Cheng seems to enjoy that. Without missing a beat he rolls his hips against Qiu’s.

_Oh._

He Cheng’s hair is still gelled back. Qiu wants to get his hands on it and _fuck it up_. Qiu can imagine the dazed expression on He Cheng’s eyes if Qiu did. Qiu’s eyes fall to the split lip. It has been teasing him all fucking night. Qiu wants to bite on it so bad. 

“Qiu?”

“Hmm?”

He Cheng leans his forehead on Qiu’s. He rolls his rips again, slow, sensual. Qiu’s grip tightens.

His skin is too hot to the touch. The cold door behind him isn’t enough to cool him. 

“He Cheng, please.”

He Cheng meets his eyes.

“What do you want?”

Shit, Qiu wants _him_. Qiu wants so, so much. A kiss would be a damn good place to start.

Qiu licks his lips. He Cheng looks at them instead.

“ _He Cheng_.”

He Cheng’s hands come up to Qiu face, his thumb brushes over Qiu’s bottom lip. Qiu’s breath hitches.

_Fuck_.

He Cheng is fucking infuriating. Qiu wants him so much.

“He Cheng.”

He Cheng falls the inch or so between them and kisses Qiu.

_Oh_.

_Oh, thank god._

Kissing He Cheng is fucking better than Qiu imagined. It feels like surrender. He Cheng tastes like the alcohol they shared, and he _wants_ Qiu. He kisses Qiu like he _wants him_.

Qiu can’t make it slow. He’s too worked up. He makes the kiss wet, dirty. He Cheng pushes him harder against the wall.

Fuck.

Qiu bites on his bottom lip, hard. He Cheng shakes.

“ _Qiu,_ ” he breathes out, against Qiu’s lips. The way Qiu’s name _sounds_ on his lips- 

Qiu pulls his bottom lip into his mouth again, soothing the bite with a kiss.

“Boss-“

“ _Shit,_ Qiu.” He Cheng forces him impossibly harder against the wall.

Qiu grips He Cheng’s hips and pulls him in.

Oh fuck.

Oh, Qiu is so hard. He can feel that He Cheng is too.

He Cheng’s face falls to the crook of Qiu’s neck. He grinds on Qiu steadily like that. 

Qiu had forgotten altogether about the music but he remembers it now. He Cheng is following the rhythm.

_Fuck_.

The fact that He Cheng can still pace himself, when Qiu is _crawling out of his skin_ here, is maddening. Qiu wants to reverse their positions and _fuck_ He Cheng through the door _._

There’s a crescendo in the tempo coming from downstairs. He Cheng pushes into his hips faster.

_Fuck_.

“Ah- _Boss_. I need more.”

He Cheng kisses his neck.

_Oh_ , that’s sure as fuck not what Qiu meant. He Cheng’s kiss is soft. Sensual. 

Qiu will go crazy.

“Boss. please.”

“You shouldn’t call me that. You don’t know what it fucking does to me.”

Oh. Oh, if Qiu has any way to tease him like He Cheng is teasing him that’s fair game.

“ _Boss_. Boss, please. You’re gonna put your money where your mouth is or are you just talk?”

He Cheng reaches down for Qiu’s hips.

“Can I-“

“ _Yes_.” 

He Cheng can anything.

He Cheng thumbs open his jeans.

_Ah-_

He Cheng’s thumb brushes against Qiu’s erection. 

And then he lingers there, with barely any pressure.

Fucking hell.

He Cheng’s goals in life include _fucking killing him_.

“Boss why do you hate me?”

He Cheng smiles. “I don’t. You look hot frustrated.”

Oh.

_Oh_ , that’s-

“I look hotter cumming,” Qiu tries.

He Cheng meets his eyes. There’s intent there, heavy and hanging in the air. Qiu has no idea what he’s going to do. Qiu prepares himself for anything. He Cheng-

He Cheng drops down on his knees.

_Ah,_ f _uck_.

Qiu fucking _chokes_ on the rush of power. 

He Cheng, on his knees for him. Qiu feels like a god.

He Cheng leans in to kiss him, over his clothes. He Cheng fucking likes this. He doesn’t hide it from Qiu. He likes being on his knees. Qiu feels a dirty thrill at the sight.

Qiu pushes his pants and underwear down, enough to free up his erection.

Fuck, that feels good.

Qiu is big, he’s always prided himself on that. He’s so very hard.

He Cheng looks at him with heavy lidded eyes.

Qiu can smell the musky scent of sex in the air.

He Cheng kisses the tip and then he leans further to the side, to kiss Qiu’s hipbone. His lips evoke goosebumps against sensitive skin. He Cheng’s next kiss is dirtier, sloppy. Qiu can hear the wet sound of lips on kin. Qiu is fucking dizzy with arousal.

Qiu lowers his hands to He Cheng’s head. He Cheng closes his eyes.

Qiu pushes his thumb down, letting He Cheng’s lips catch against his skin.

_Ah-_

“You look fucking good like this boss.”

He Cheng answers by licking his thumb.

Yeah.

His hair remains gelled, elegant. Qiu wants to mess it up. He runs his hand slowly through it. He Cheng seems in ecstasy. Qiu finds that soft spot at He Cheng’s nape and curls his fingers into his hair.

“ _Ah_ -“ He Cheng groans. His hair sticks out now. He is a dirty sight to behold. 

_Oh_ , that’s better.

He looks positively delectable. 

His thumbs stroke He Cheng’s cheek, He Cheng’s nape. Qiu is keeping He Cheng where he wants him. He Cheng seems okay with that.

“Boss, can I-“

“Yeah.”

_Fuck_. Qiu is almost trembling against the wall.

He takes himself in hand. He Cheng leans forward.

He’s so fucking pretty.

Qiu pushes his cock past He Cheng’s lips. He Cheng opens his mouth wider. 

It’s _erotic_ , his cock disappearing inside He Cheng’s mouth. 

Qiu’s lost on the wet heat around him.

Before Qiu knows, inch by inch, he’s most of the way inside, the part that still feels comfortable for He Cheng. 

He Cheng looks up at him, and sucks his cock like Qiu gave him a gift.

“ _Boss-_ ”

He Cheng forces himself an extra inch down.

_Fuck_.

Fuck, fuck-

The sounds that He Cheng makes on his cock are fucking indecent. Can the guards running security outside the door hear them? Qiu feels like the entire club will _know_ about this, somehow.

Qiu thrusts it up. He Cheng lets him, swallowing around him. And then He Cheng pushes his hips flat against the wall.

_Ah-_

He Cheng is blowing him against a wall. Yeah, _yeah_ \- Qiu doesn’t give a fuck if anyone hears. Qiu wants to tell them. Qiu wants to hand out fliers to let people know.

Qiu trembles against the wall. He Cheng flattens his tongue against the base and sucks.

Fuck.

He Cheng fucking likes sucking dick. He likes being on his knees, pleasing Qiu. 

_Fuck._

He Cheng should suck dick _all the time_. He should always be pushed down on his knees like this.

“ _Ah_ , He Cheng- ah, ah-“

He Cheng sucks him in _earnest_.

Qiu can feel sweat cooling on his skin. Qiu can’t take his eyes off of He Cheng. He’s not gonna be able to last much longer.

“ _Boss_ -“

He Cheng pulls off with a _pop_ and sinks down again. 

“ _Ah_ -”

Qiu’s voice is high pitched and fucking loud in the room. Qiu has half a second to feel embarrassed, but it doesn’t last. Qiu can feel his climax peaking. Everything is dull with the rush of blood in Qiu’s ears.

“Boss, I’m gonna come-. _Please_.”

He Cheng sucks harder. He wants Qiu to come.

Qiu’s breath hitches.

Oh, oh, _oh_ -

Qiu spasms against the door. _Yeah_. He Cheng milks every last drop of him.

Ah-

Qiu collapses against the door. He’s breathing is out of control. He can still hear the rush of his blood in his ears.

Fuck, that was good.

Qiu’s entire body feels pulsing with the aftershock.

It takes a long moment for Qiu to get his bearings.

Oh, He Cheng has been neglected. 

He’s breathing hard, his pants tented by an impressive erection. 

Oh, poor thing. Qiu can give him what he wants. As soon as Qiu feels his limbs.

“Come up here,” Qiu says.

He Cheng does.

Qiu finds his erection and gives an experimental push. He Cheng’s breath hitches. Qiu cups him through his pants, softly. “Shh, I know. I know, I’ve got you now.”

“ _Qiu_.”

“I’ve got you.”

He untucks He Cheng’s shirt and opens his pants. Yeah, that’s better. Qiu pushes his pants out of the way.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Qiu asks.

He Cheng’s nails _dig_ into his skin. Fuck, Qiu could get hard again. Qiu reaches inside and pulls on his cock.

“Do you want me to blow you doll?”

He Cheng has to think about that one. He shakes his head. He thrusts up into He Cheng’s palm. Oh, yes baby, Qiu can work with that. He Cheng meets his eyes.

“Just because I’m being amenable right now, don’t always expect that from me.”

Qiu will replace _amenable_ with submissive. Qiu knows. He Cheng is enjoying the pleasure of letting go.

“Do you have lube here?”

He Cheng shakes his head. It’s alright. Qiu pulls up his hand and licks it before stroking He Cheng again.

He Cheng doesn’t take long. He’s worked up from blowing Qiu. Half a dozen good thrusts against Qiu’s hand, hard, hot jeez lands heavy on Qiu’s skin, some of it on Qiu’s shirt. He Cheng collapses on Qiu. His body spasms with his orgasm. Qiu keeps stroking, until He Cheng pushes his hand away.

Fuck.

Qiu needs a moment to catch his breath. He Cheng is right there with him. 

The music coming from downstairs seems out of place now. How can the world keep on happening the same when Qiu just had such a _spectacular encounter_? Qiu thinks the music should reflect this. 

Qiu feels like the world should be adapting to this, somehow. He Cheng is amazing.

“Hey,” Qiu says, “this was amazing.”

He Cheng smiles.

“Slip a fifty beneath the door for the bodyguards and tell them to bring me a towel. If anyone can find me a change of clothes they get promoted.”

Qiu is amused. 

“I already left fifty yuan at the bar downstairs,” Qiu argues.

He Cheng looks at him. 

“Shit, you are cheap, aren’t you?”

He Cheng had to pull away to look at Qiu. That sucks ass. Qiu wants to go back to sort of cuddling against the wall.

When Qiu pulls, He Cheng comes back, agreeable enough.

Better.

“You don’t keep a change of clothes here, boss?” Qiu asks.

“No?”

There’s this tone of, _why would I keep clothes in my office?_ Qiu, personally, thinks it’s a fantastic idea.

“You should boss. Don’t be caught unprepared our next time.”

He Cheng pauses.

It takes Qiu a second to understand what he said wrong.

“Oh,” Qiu adds, “Oh, I mean. If you want to. I just meant-“

It never crossed his mind He Cheng wouldn’t want to. They are brilliant together. 

He Cheng hushes him. “Sure Qiu. Quiet now. I’ll pay you fifty yuan if you don’t talk in my afterglow. You will have money to bribe the bodyguards into getting us a towel.”

Sounds great to Qiu.

“Deal.”

________________

“And then we had sex in the club’s office.”

“I don't need to know that you had sex in club’s office.”

“You asked how we got together. The fuck did you think I would say, that we kissed under the moonlight?”

“I didn't think you'd answer at all! It was rhetorical! 'How did He Cheng get down with the likes of you' was a curse because you made me punch bags for an hour. I can't feel my lungs.”

Mo is sprawled out on the floor, hands over his chest. 

Qiu watches him breathe deeply. When Mo exhales he heavens, like it pains him. 

Drama queen.

“You're fine,” Qiu tells him. “If you're getting knocked out after punching a bag for forty-five minutes you still have much to train kid.”

With what appears to great effort, Mo lifts up one hand. Slowly he... he flips Qiu off. Oh. So sweet. 

The hand collapses back against his chest again.

“Like. I don’t care. But did he really use the line ‘ _we can’t dance here for reasons, we have to go up to my office behind closed doors_ ’? Holy shit.”

Mo’s expression is hilarious. It was a great line,Qiu would argue. Effective.

“Yeah,” Qiu says, “and then we did go up to his office-“

“…I got that part.”

“-so I’d say it was effective. The trick, Mo, is not to have the best line ever. It’s to be so good looking that the line works anyway.”

Mo stares at the ceiling. Finally, he sighs.

“You can’t account for taste, I guess.”

This kid is such a shit. Qiu is constantly amazed.

“Hilarious,” Qiu says, “coming from the guy in love with his brother. You know he’ll look like He Cheng when grows older, right?”

Mo’s expression wavers. Qiu appears to have hit some kind of nerve.

Wha...?

Qiu meant it in good faith. He’s just doing some of the same teasing that Mo does. But something Qiu said made Mo sensitive.

Mo is staring at the ceiling. He doesn't answer immediately.

“You think I’ll still be here when he’s older?” Mo asks.

…Mo Guan Shan has done a zen retreat at a goddamn mountain when they weren’t looking if he’s not fighting the love part. Or at least he’s too distracted by what bothered him. Qiu has no clue what clue what he’s thinking.

“I think you're right,” Mo says, still staring at the ceiling. “What you’ve been saying. If He Tian is working for the mafia I'll get involved, sooner or later.”

That’s a change of subject.  Qiu looks at him.

“But..?” Qiu asks.

“But I don't want him to be working for the mafia at all. It's like you said, I don't want to be wondering if he's ever even going to come back. Or if this time He Tian is dead. Like your old friend. That's fucking stupid. I want him to work at a fucking library, for all the power that I have to make it happen.”

Hmm. 

Some part of this is not a choice for He Tian. He was born in the family, he’ll always have a target on his back. It’s not a matter of whether He Tian would want to or not. But Qiu understands where Mo is coming from.

“I think it's more power than you realise,” Qiu tells him kindly. “If you told He Tian to work at a library chances are he'd listen.”

“And chances are he wouldn't be able to listen. The family business runs in the blood or something. He'd just lie.”

Yeah.

“Worth the try,” Qiu says anyway, just to be fake positive.

Mo doesn't answer. He is miles away.  Qiu sighs.

Okay. Serious moment.

“Those magical solutions are good to dwell on,” Qiu starts, “( _what if He Tian worked at a library??_ ) but they’re bullshit. You’re wasting your fucking time.”

“…ouch.”

“No _ouch_. Kid you’ve been stuck on this for weeks. At some point you’re gonna have to make up your mind. About He Tian, about what you’re going to do. I’m willing to share what happened to me but I can’t make decisions for you. Only you can know how far you’re willing to go. And if isn’t very far, instead of asking for physical training, you should getting the fuck away. You can’t have it both ways.”

Probably not the nicest thing for Mo to hear. There’s not much else Qiu can offer though.

Mo is quiet for a long time.

_________________

_“You’re gonna let him get caught.”_

Qiu has been guarding Mo for weeks now, so the command is fucking contradictory. It comes as a bit of a shock. 

_It won’t be for long_ , He Cheng told him, _but enough for whoever it is to get the jump on Mo_. Qiu nodded in assent. Qiu knows what this is about. Someone on the inside of their organisation is leaking information. They’ve known for months. They can’t fucking afford that. The price to pay for an enemy spy is- it’s too high. 

So Mo gets jumped. If the mole believes he has a chance to kidnap Mo, he will reveal himself. Sound reasoning, for Qiu. In this business you deal in violence.

Mo will likely take a punch though. Or two. Put those training skills to use. Afterwards Mo will have to decide if this all too complicated for him. If he would rather stay the fuck away from He Tian.

_Or…_

Qiu has no clue which one he’ll go with.

Qiu only knows what he chose, all those years ago. He looks at He Cheng, sitting at his desk. Qiu hasn’t regretted it once.

________________

~~ _About first nights sleeping ov_ ~~

_About decisions, and something worthwhile._

“Qiu what?”

They’re lying in bed, cooling off. Qiu managed to tire He Cheng out this time. He’s feeling proud of that. He Cheng is really fucked out and that’s the _only_ reason he’s letting Qiu cuddle him, really. They’re both pretending to believe it. 

Qiu combs his hands through He Cheng’s hair. 

“Hmm?” 

“Qiu what?” He Cheng repeats.

Oh.

“Qiu Chonglin.”

“…unicorn?"

“I just go by Qiu these days.”

The pretending feels like a phase for Qiu. Like maybe in a week they wouldn’t need the excuses anymore. In a month or so one of them could sleep over unprompted. In a semester, who knows, they could have unapologetic physical intimacy. 

They have so little fucking secrets between the two of them. If this is something, who gives a shit?

They’re quiet. 

Qiu keeps combing the hairs between his fingers. He Cheng has something on his mind. Qiu waits. They’re not in a hurry here.

“I have a little brother,” He Cheng says, finally. “If you're getting tangled up in my shit you have to know that. He's priority for me.”

Qiu divides the hair between his fingers into three. Slowly he starts making a braid. 

“Okay,” Qiu says.

“…are you braiding my hair?”

Qiu is. Sounds fairly obvious, actually. Qiu doesn’t feel the need to answer.

“…everyone has their kicks, I suppose,” He Cheng says. Qiu smiles. 

For a moment the room is quiet. Only the sound of their breathing, the rustling of sheets. The motions of Qiu’s fingers are fairly calming for him.

“I also have a dog,” He Cheng says.

“Got it.”

“Brother can’t know about the dog.”

“…”

“It’s complicated.”

Braid done. 

It’s pretty.

Qiu runs his fingers through it to undo it.

He Cheng sounds messy, to be honest. Heir to some mafia family, cold, dark, calculated. He has danger at all times simmering under the surface.

Qiu thinks, given many chances, he would still get tangled up in his shit anyway.

Qiu divides the hair and starts again. 

The soothing repetition of his movements lulls He Cheng to sleep. Qiu watches him for a long time.

________________

“What happened after Mo got jumped?” He Cheng asks him. “I heard it from him but he doesn’t know about the mole.”

“I recognised the mole,” Qiu says. “He ran away when he noticed me but I know who he is.”

He Cheng is pleased. “Good. We’ll catch him.”

Yeah, Qiu thinks so too.

“What happened after Mo barged into your office boss?” Qiu asks him. “He just wanted an explanation?”

“Oh. No. He wants to be taken to He Tian.”

“…He Tian is out of the country.”

“…no way Qiu. Really?”

Oh. 

_Oh_ , Mo did make his choice. Good for him.

“Does that mean I get to go back to regular work boss?”

“Yes. Try not to get too excited about that.”

Qiu _will not_ try not get too excited, thank you very much.  No more babysitting teenagers for him bitches.

He sits down across the desk from He Cheng.

He Cheng watches him with a curious expression on his face.

He must have something on his mind. Qiu waits.

“You ever regret this?” He Cheng asks, fake casual. The questions matters then. He doesn’t spring up things without a specific prompt. 

The question takes Qiu by surprise.

_Does he ever regret this?_

Qiu looks at He Cheng. He doesn’t have to think about it at all.

“Not once boss.”

He Cheng smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (okay, _now_ I'm done lol)

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS! I wrote Qiucheng! I'm feeling excited about that, it's a big change of pace. Thank you [ginmayo's comics](https://ginmayo.tumblr.com/tagged/young!qiucheng) for making me see the light that is this pairing ❤️ _That_ young version of them made me think of young versions of them so this fic owes them a shout out. 
> 
> (If you're waiting for an epilogue for It will come back, it will happen! You could even say that fic... will come back. Awful, I'm sorry lmao I have a lot of the epilogue written, I was just in the mood to write this first. Subscribe to the series!)
> 
> (If you left a comment there that I haven't answered I just want to say that I love you WITH my heart and soul. Really. At some point it got a little overwhelming to answer individually in unique ways (without sounding like I was just copy + pasting to everyone 😥). But I was amazed with support and I appreciate all comments so much. <3)
> 
> You can find my 19 days blog at [mgsdays](https://www.mgsdays.tumblr.com).


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